


Cardinal Vices

by deepandlovelydark



Series: Second Chances [19]
Category: MacGyver (TV 1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Blackmail, Gangs, Heartwarming, Holidays, References to Drugs, Rivalry, a confuddlement of tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-15 20:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepandlovelydark/pseuds/deepandlovelydark
Summary: "I dunno," Mac says. "Ralph Jerico isn't interesting enough to be anyone's archenemy. Not even a barista's.""Doesn't make him any less dangerous," Jack points out.





	1. November 1986

The timing can be a little irregular, as early as October some years; but no later than December first, there’s always a cheque waiting for Mac at the post office. Postmarked from Skagway, Alaska, for a thousand dollars. Sometimes it goes into savings, sometimes it goes towards the shop. A diamond ring, one year. A lawyer’s fee. His mother’s funeral expenses. 

This year, it’s earmarked for Becky. Anything she’s so much as hinted at wanting- a red Victorinox knife just like his, more sewing material, a set of brown buttoned boots for the snow- Mac’s determined to get for her. 

“And there’ll be plenty left over for all the trimmings, and a proper donation to her choir fund. Maybe I’ll even try to wrangle a goose again. After the year we’ve had, Becky deserves a proper Christmas- and so do I, at that.”

He has no idea whether his Grandpa Harry even gets the annual letters, or reads them. But Mac likes to think he does.

*************

“I know what you want this year,” Jack says, as they studiously ignore the Thanksgiving football (first one to succumb to temptation and comment on the game loses). “One, a brand-spankin’ new VCR and some Westerns to watch. That videodisc system of yours is an antique, these days.”

“There’s a lot to be said for records as a long-term storage medium,” Mac protests. “And I already own the Dollars trilogy, what more do I want?”

“But a VCR lets you record reruns. Just think of all those episodes of ‘The Wild Wild West’ that you could play back whenever you like.”

“I’ll admit, that’s a pretty tempting prospect…Becky, you asleep? I think she fell asleep.“ He looks fondly at his niece, tucked up in a nest of half-constructed blankets.

“The way you have with a turkey, I can believe that- hey, I can swear again! So, two. Revenge on that bastard who waltzed off with Ellen.” 

“Are you kidding? I’m grateful to the guy. No more alimony to pay, Ellen’s off my hands for good…and I was worrying about her despite everything, so that’s a relief.”

“Put it this way, then. Who else in town is as rich as Ralph Jerico?”

“Penny Parker, I guess. You know her, right? Parents are nuclear physicists at MIT, or something.”

Jack gives an exaggerated shiver. “The one with the crazy drink orders? Wish I could forget her- but you can’t rip off a poor little rich girl at Christmas. Bad karma.”

“Uh-oh. Do I detect another Dalton flimflamm in the works?”

“Coming right up. As soon as I think of a good one- wanna lend your brainpower to the task?”

“Nah. That’s one field I’m happy to let you have the edge over me.”

“Hey, that was a pretty good pass,” Becky says sleepily. “Nice one.”

She’s not sure why the comment should provoke such gales of laughter; but the sound’s as comforting as her quilts. 

*************

Ralph Jerico is a man with a plan. 

Ever since the prison shut down, Mission City has been a community of lost bawling sheep. Somebody needs to take charge; somebody needs to fill the vacuum. Start rebuilding the town from scratch, based on something more dependable this time than the vagaries of federal funding. 

And to initiate this ambitious plan, the blackmail of a certain local coffee shop owner. By way of a Christmas present for Ellen. 

Really, his new wife deserves nothing less. 


	2. December 1986

“You see, there’s no use trying to blackmail Jack Dalton,” Jerico explains. “He’s already a convict, a public scandal, and even the much chewed-over question of whether you were cheating on Ellen with him is old hat. I couldn’t get anyone interested in that question if I asked it at town meeting.”

Mac flushes, and takes a rather larger gulp of scotch than he’d been intending. “No. That isn’t me.”

“I doubt anyone would believe you. But I had to find another source of leverage- and consequently, I found one. It was your fault that the FCI closed down, wasn’t it? I’ve tracked down the editor who published Mike Forrester’s article. There’s a rather gracious thank-you letter for you, signed and dated. You won’t be able to give away coffee in this town if I ever make that public.“

Outside, the snow’s falling, carolers are practicing. There’s a roaring fire going, in Jerico’s well-appointed home office; but it doesn’t make Mac feel any warmer. 

“And in exchange for keeping this silent, you want- what?”

“A thousand dollars a month?- no, I won’t ask that, but it was amusing to see your expression. Talk your friend Dalton into accepting an ongoing piloting job for me. No questions asked, and he’ll be rewarded handsomely.”

“If it was anything halfway decent, you wouldn’t be going to all this trouble. You’d just go ahead and hire him.”

“Some people object to drug-running, even ex-cons. We’re halfway between Duluth and the Twin Cities. Excellent location, with a discontented and underemployed populace. Same principle as the Prohibition bootleggers- and you know how everyone romanticises them.”

“Cocaine and heroin aren’t the same as alcohol.”

“The morality concerns me not in the slightest,” Jerico says, refilling their glasses. “You see, unlike you I genuinely appreciate this town. The atmosphere appeals to me.”

“It would. Sanctimonious batch of…oh, never mind.”

**************

“We gotta talk.”

“How’d it go?” Jack asks smugly, as he locks the shop door. “You remembered to turn on your recorder gadget, right?”

“Yeah, and I don’t think he noticed it, but it was still a complete disaster! He said more than enough incriminating stuff, but there’s no way we could threaten to tell it to the cops. It was all about me.”

“Uh-oh. What was it, us? The smuggling racket? That time you served everybody decaf for a week, because you'd run out of real coffee?

"Worse than any of that," Mac says, not even smiling. "It was about Mike's letter, the one that shut down the FCI. My first foray into prison-breaking...and he has documentary proof."

Jack doesn’t say anything. Just pulls off his leather jacket, and hands it over. 

“Put this on. You look like you’re freezing.”

“It’s got pretty cold out there,” Mac mutters, gratefully slipping into the cosy garment. “Thanks…so now we’re in a bind. Either you agree to start flying in shipments of crack for him, or I get a lynch mob trying to burn down the shop with me and Becky in it.”

“Not much of a choice, is it? Guess I’d better brush up on my drug slang.”

“No! I mean- I can’t- you’ve never ended up in prison because of anything I’ve done before, at least. I can’t ask you to do a thing like this.”

“It’s kinda my fault for trying to outthink a paid-up member of Mensa,” Jack muses. “Cheer up, Mac. He’s going to all this trouble because he thinks I’m a competent pilot, right?“

“I guess.”

“So what happens if I crash his plane? A couple of them, if necessary. He won’t have any more reason to blackmail you then. Maybe somebody else will bring in the drugs anyway, but that’ll be on them.”

“If he gets the idea you’re doing it on purpose, we’re both dead.”

“Good point. So it’ll have to be under irreproachable circumstances. Say, if I’d be putting my best friend’s life at risk.”

“Jack, please no. You know how I feel about heights.”

“You got a better plan, now’s the time to mention it.”

************

He doesn’t come up with a better plan, so come Friday they’re standing in a cold field, with a plane that to Mac’s jaundiced eye looks terrifyingly decrepit. 

Jack coos at it, running his gloves over the nose with a perturbing sensuality. 

“Better you than me,” the pilot says with a shudder. “Couldn’t pay me enough to take that thing up again.”

“Anything broken?” Mac asks anxiously. 

“Probably easier to tell you what isn’t. I think the floormats are still in one piece?”

“We’re only taking a short hop,” Jack reassures him. “So I can get the feel. Up and over the Lakes and back again, you’ll hardly notice you’re off the ground.”

_It’s for Becky. You’re doing this because you have to look after Becky, and you can’t do that without the shop._

That line of thought gets him into the plane, even keeps him calm during the warm-up; and by the time the wheels start rolling, it’s too late. Jack, bless his heart, seems to be trying to make the trip as smooth as possible. Though there’s only so much he can do, with an engine this choky. 

“I think she’s misfiring.”

“Ignore him,” Jack tells the plane tenderly. “He’s just jealous because I know how you work and he doesn’t.”

“I’m on a kamikaze flight. Tell me why I shouldn’t panic. Tell me why I shouldn’t descend into two hours of complete gibbering panic.”

“You’ll put me off my game.”

“Shutting up now,” Mac says immediately. 

“Well, don’t do that, or this’ll be a long dull flight. Want some whiskey?”

“I’m on a kamikaze flight with a drunk pilot?”

Jack sighs. “Mac, even I’m not that thick. It’s for you. Just make sure you’ve got those air bags rigged up before you get stuck in.”

“Bet you I’ll finish the bottle before we even turn around.”

************

He doesn’t, but there’s only a couple of inches left by the time they’re making the descent. 

“I thought you were gonna make for the park.”

“Had a better idea. He’ll really get the point if we crash in town, right?”

“You might hurt someone!”

“Nah, don’t think so. I’ve been keeping a pretty close eye on Jerico’s house, this last week. They won’t be around this time of day.”

“I dunno if my improvisations are gonna hold up to that kind of strain. Actually, I’m almost sure they won’t.”

“Mac. You gotta have more faith in yourself.” 

He closes his eyes and simply prays, as the plane drops sickeningly downwards. They slam into his homemade cushions, as it screams its way through an unholy crunch, and screech of torn metal. And, a millennium or two later, finally stops.

“See? We’re still alive. Your wacky invention worked, it’s all good.”

Mac blinks. “I guess I was a lot more scared of what was going to happen than I was when it was actually happening.”

“Have I cured your fear of heights yet?” Jack enquires, as they fold up the telltale plastics.

“No.”

“Shucks.”

************

“Of course he didn’t put Dalton up to it,” Ellen says. “He wouldn’t have the backbone.”

“Is that so,” Jerico says, eying the smoldering remnant of what had been a very expensive home office (what’s left of it is rather oddly decorated with bits of shattered plane wing). “I’m glad you say so, because if I thought he had, I’d be suing him for every penny he’s got.”

“Don’t tell me you’re concerned about the money,” Ellen says, her lip curling. “Anyone in town could have told you not to hire drunken Dalton. What possessed you?”

He does quite a bit of shouting, in the ensuring argument.

It's nice having someone she can shout at back with wholehearted enthusiasm.


	3. Christmas, 1986

Ellen wakes up Christmas morning with a sense of utter well-being. 

She’s always been a small-town girl, and she likes it that way. But until the new house is ready they’re staying in a luxurious hotel suite in St Paul, and she has to admit the place has its compensations. People to wait on them hand and foot, and enough shopping to satisfy anyone. All the money she likes to spend on it, too. 

She drowsily reaches out for her husband, realising as she makes contact that it’s Ralph she’s touching. Not Mac. 

Oh. Right. 

What would Mac be doing today? He was always so determined to make a festive holiday - first for his mother’s sake (she always tended to go a little quiet at the anniversary of her husband’s death, the poor sweet woman). Later on, because he never could get enough of indulging his nephew and niece- oh, that unfortunate Becky. She’ll have a hard life ahead of her, with no parents or money. 

A sense of guilt starts creeping over her at the thought. Mac had looked so very tired the last time she’d seen him, delivering the October alimony cheque, and she’d wanted to ask if he was well, but- no. It’d hardly been the sort of question to ask one’s ex, a fortnight before the new marriage. But the shop had been struggling even when she’d left, and now he has a niece to care for- and he’s still caught up in that patent lawsuit, isn’t he?

_Put it out of your mind, Ellen. He’s not your worry anymore._

But the guilty little undercurrent keeps poisoning her day. All the while that Ralph and she are exchanging costly gifts, and kissing each other with approved zest. Going out for a monumentally expensive breakfast, laughing at his jokes- what woman doesn’t have the knack, for enjoying herself in the moment? While underneath she’s thinking about something else entirely, and the fellow never suspects. She’d done it often enough in the last few years of her marriage.

Maybe it isn’t going well for them. Maybe there’s a fourteen-year old child at the shop, crying her eyes out because there isn’t any Christmas for her (now, that’s a story whose refrain is far too familiar). Maybe there’s no money to buy propane this winter, and they’re wrapped up in blankets and huddling by the fireplace.

Ellen takes a bite of sugared blintz, softly yielding to the silver fork. Maybe he’s hungry, going without today so there’ll be enough for Becky. She won’t ever know. She’s lost the right to share his burdens, or even ask what’s troubling him. 

By the time breakfast is over, and Ralph is taking her to meet some of his business contacts (don’t they have anything better to do, on Christmas? Doesn’t she?), the battle’s lost. She’ll just have to start going to the shop again. Whatever it costs her in self-respect, whatever Ralph thinks about it. Just to be sure he’s all right. 

Maybe she doesn’t love him anymore; but dammit, that needn’t stop her indulging in small-town neighbourliness. 

As much as he’ll let her get away with, at least. 

*************

“One special Christmas delivery, just like I promised,” Hans says heartily to Mac. “Though I’d have done it anyway just to get the blasted creature out of my nice clean post office…there was some sort of mixup, some fellow drove it down from the depot late last night. They didn’t want it either.”

It’s a live goose. It honks at them. 

“Ah well,” Jack says philosophically. “I’ll go get the meat axe-”

“Jack!” Becky says in outrage. “We can’t kill it! Not on Christmas!”

“You sure? We really can’t?” 

“Not if Becky says no,” Mac agrees. “Besides, do you know how long it takes to prepare them? We’ll spend the whole day plucking feathers…though I wish we’d known yesterday. Or before the shops closed. What do I put on the serving platter, three more pies?”

“You’re saying this as though extra pie is a bad thing.”

“I’ve already baked four,” Mac muses. “Plus two cakes, plus a pudding. It is just possible I’ve overdone it this year.”

“I’m calling her Gertrude,” Becky says. “Or at least, I will until we sell her to a farmer who’ll butcher her himself- but not today. And not tomorrow either.”

“If you two insist, then…I have four pounds of pastrami in my fridge,” Jack offers. 

“Who ever heard of Christmas pastrami?”

“Not me.”

“Sorry, Unc.”

“Huh,” Mac says, with a gleam in his eye. “Guess we’ll just have to improvise, won’t we?”

It’s a pretty ridiculous affair; but he and Jack and Becky contrive to have a very cheerful Christmas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and I never thought I'd be importing canon from new!MacGyver to use for writing fic about the original, but the moment Bozer said "Mission City," I knew this was coming...


	4. March 1987

“And then,” Penny says, “I’ll try a chocolate chip cookie.”

“Okay. Lemme get you a bag.”

“Not with the coffee. In the coffee. In nice little chunks, please.”

There is no point asking Penny the why of anything. Becky grabs a cookie, thinks for a moment, and wraps a clean cloth around the comestible before fetching the hammer. Theirs is possibly the only coffee shop in Minnesota that keeps a fully stocked tool kit next to the refrigerator; but she can’t imagine how the others do without it.

“So I had such an interesting morning. I went out to get my hair done.”

She has six customers in line and a Penny story to contend with. _Uncle Mac, where are you when I need you?_

(Out playing hockey with Jack, as she’d insisted. Oops.)

“Did you?”

“No, not yet. Because I’d forgotten the nice old lady who used to do it for me retired last week, and I couldn’t remember who she said I should go to...ooh, I'll have to go find it next. You see, I thought I knew the right street, but I got lost.”

“You got lost in Mission City?” the next customer asks. “How?”

Becky gives him his black coffee and an imploring look. He shrugs, leaves. 

“Oh, well, I can get lost anywhere,” Penny says, sipping her cookie-reinforced drink. “Even in my own house, once...so I went down the street, and just kept going, and going, and eventually I found myself at the lumber mill. You know. The old, haunted lumber mill.”

“That’s a good three miles away from downtown,” Eudora says. Becky makes sure to smile at her; the librarian’s command of Minnesota’s interlibrary loan system is what keeps her and her uncle in books. “One iced coffee, not too heavy on the sugar.”

“Here’s one I prepared earlier,” Becky says in relief.

“Thank you. Will you tell Mac, the latest edition of _2600_ just arrived.”

“Sure thing.”

“The old, haunted lumber mill,” Penny repeats. “I thought, maybe I’d go say hello to the ghosts, cheer them up, so I went around looking for an entrance, but all the doors were locked. But I found a way in by accident.” She giggles. “Actually, I fell down it.”

“Now that I can believe,” Luke says, with a isn’t-she-something look for Becky. It’s not as bad waiting on him as some of her other classmates; for one thing, he’s kinda cute. She’d even thought about dating him, until the day he’d said he couldn’t imagine living anywhere besides Mission City- and that is one family mistake she is definitely not going to repeat.

“Gingerbread, yeah?”

“With chocolate sprinkles?”

“With chocolate sprinkles,” Becky agrees. “You didn’t hurt yourself or anything, did you?”

“Oh, no! It was a nice smooth slide all the way. But it was just a little steep to climb up, so I went out to find another way out- and do you know what I saw?”

“Let me guess,” Hans says. “Ghosts! Becky, my regular?”

“Sorry, but the bakery ran out of pumpkin mix. Can I sell you on a banana bread muffin with your coffee?”

“A sweet girl like you? You can do anything you like, honey.” He winks at her. Becky rolls her eyes. Some of the older guys in town really push the envelope. 

“Nooo, they weren’t ghosts,” Penny says thoughtfully. “They were spooky, and they were whispering, but when I found the light switch and turned it on, they didn’t vanish. And then they started shooting at me, and I never heard of a ghost that tried to shoot anyone.”

“Whoa,” Becky says. “What?”

“Just what I said! They were shooting at me, and I ran! But they couldn’t shoot at me very well because the whole room was full of crates, and I just hid behind them, and then I found a door that I could lock and locked it. So there I am,” Penny says dramatically. “The heroine, trapped! In an old mop cupboard. It was just like that last play I was in- or was it the play before that?”

Sergeant Olson doesn’t even notice when Becky hands him the usual apple fritter doughnut; he’s whipped out his notebook and is scribbling like mad. 

“But then, on stage I’d have someone else to rescue me. This time I didn’t have a co-star...so you know what, Becky? It was really your uncle that saved me.”

“Uh- was he there, or something?”

“Oh, no. But I just thought, he’s so clever at making something out of nothing, what would he do in my place? Mix up all the chemicals lying around- of course, I didn’t know what the right ones were. So I just put everything I could find in a bucket, and it started to fizzle and give off this terrible smell, and smoke, and I rushed out and they couldn’t see me. Because of the smoke. But then I tripped and spilled it all over one of the crates, and it just went up like- whoosh! So then there was even more smoke, and just everything was on fire when I found the stairs, and I suppose those three men are still there trying to put the fire out. But they really shouldn’t have been keeping anything there, anyway. I mean, the mill is for the ghosts...”

“Have you filed a police report yet, young lady?” Sergeant Olson says sternly. “I think we’d better be going down to the station.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun! I haven’t been there since the time I accidentally crashed my car into your police car, I think.”

Penny smiles. There is a speechless silence. 

“Just as soon as I finish this drink. I thought I deserved a chocolate chip cookie after a morning like that, don’t you?”


	5. February 1990

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather extensive spoilers for "Faith, Hope and Charity".

His life being what it is, Mac’s reaction to getting caught in a bear trap is one of stoical resignation. Maybe it hurts like blue blazes; but at some level he was expecting this. 

“Everything was just going too well,” he growls, struggling to release the springs. “Jack sober, and Becky almost a graduate, and a paid vacation for me- of course something had to happen! Something always happens!” 

The anger’s a tool, as much as his knife. If he goads himself with it, pushes as hard as he can- there. His foot’s free. Mac strips off the boot, examines the wound beneath (dammit, he’ll have to break in a new pair now, and good ones aren’t cheap). Fearful amount of blood, god knows about the tendon…anyone in their right mind would have this seen to by a doctor. But that means medical bills, treatments that he can’t afford. And for that matter, he’s miles from anywhere. Just getting out of the woods is going to be his first problem. 

Nobody’s around to hear. He starts cursing freely, while rummaging in his rucksack for the first-aid kit. Disinfectant and bandages before he does anything else- 

“Young man! Such language!”

“You try getting caught in a bear trap,” Mac splutters. His catastrophic idiocy is about par for the course, but this is just getting weird. “Am I seeing double?”

“No, no, we really are sisters,” one of the ladies says. “I’m Faith.” 

“And I’m Hope….oh, you poor man. I think he’s fainted.”

“Oh goodness. Oh my goodness, whatever now?”

“We’ll just have to bring him back to the house, won’t we? Now look, if I go get that little red wagon, and you can start bandaging him up…”

************

Blue walls. Blue fixings. Blue bedspread. Everything in this room’s blue except his shirt, and they’ve wrapped a blue shawl around that. 

“We call it the daisy room,” Hope had said cheerily. 

Maybe he’s not thinking straight yet. 

“So I was doin’ some wolf tracking,” Mac explains, watching Faith fuss about his dressings. She seems competent enough at it, for a wonder. “For a place called the Phoenix Foundation. They do a lot of endangered animals stuff.”

“Now, isn’t that nice! A fellow animal lover, how marvellous.” 

That stings. “How’s it look? Am I going to be lame or anything?”

“Oh, no, don’t you worry about it a bit! I’m a trained nurse. But you will have to stay in bed for quite a while…two weeks, or even three.”

“Three weeks? I can’t stay here, I have a shop I need to get back to.” One he’s almost recalling with affection. Could be the colour scheme, but something here is unsettling him. “Besides, I- well, I’m grateful, but I can’t afford to pay you anything.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Hope promises. “Maybe we’re just a couple of old ladies, but I’m sure we can manage house-room and a few bowls of soup for an invalid.”

“But my shop- and Becky will be worrying about me. Have you got a telephone?”

Faith shakes her head. “Hope and I don’t hold with the darned things. You’d have to walk down to Ideal Corners, and that’s all of twenty miles.”

“Walk? You don’t have a car?”

“Don’t hold with those, either. Once a month a lady from the church comes by, so we can get to town- and doesn’t she complain about what the undergrowth does to her truck!”

If he’s really lucky, Jack will take over running the shop once Becky’s finished school vacation. The place’ll be in shambles by the time he gets home. 

Then again…Phoenix sure won’t pay him now, leaving the job half finished. And free medical care is a heck of a reason to stay. 

“I’d hate to be any trouble.”

“Oh, you won’t be!” the sisters exclaim in unison. 

Maybe it’s the spontaneous kindness that’s weirding him out. 

***********

“So. You fill the vacuum cleaner with water like so, glug glug glug- of course, on Halloween I’ll be using tomato sauce. To look like blood.”

“Why did I have to say it?” Becky asks, moving well out of the way. “What made me think that encouraging you to build anything would be a good idea?”

“You were bored,” Jack says succinctly. “Anyway, I’m really getting into this! I’ve reversed the engine, so instead of sucking in dust, it’ll splurt out liquid- and then who’s gonna win Mission City’s spookiest house competition, huh?”

He points the hose at the makeshift cardboard target he’s set up, and flicks the on switch with considerable drama. The vacuum cleaner gives a sad little moan. A trickle of water falls out of the end, and stops. 

“…okay, maybe I need to go back to the drawing board.”

“Jack, what made you think this could possibly work?”

***********

Next time Mac wakes up, he’s handcuffed to the bedstead. 

“We really thought that you were just a poor unfortunate hiker,” Faith says. “But then you said Phoenix Foundation…and of course, our guilty consciences. What else were we to do?”

At first he’s speechless out of shock, then out of policy. She can’t be meaning to leave it at that. 

(Part of his mind, the quiet Mission City native who thought that settling down with Ellen was a good idea, is refusing to believe this can even be happening.)

“I suppose you know all about us now…so of course we can’t let you leave. But then, you did bring it on yourself. And we’ll look after you so nicely! It’s been ever so long since we had anyone to stay.”

Hope enters with a heavily-laden dinner tray. The promised soup, and rolls and mushroom casserole, and a whole plate of peanut butter cookies. Under any other circumstance it’d look great. 

“Now, if you’ll promise to be good, I’ll take off one of the handcuffs and you may have a spoon. But only if you promise.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to refuse her, but- “Dishwasher.”

“What was that?” Hope asks, leaning forward. 

Loading the dishwasher, while a sardonic Englishman had been dipping biscotti into a cup of Darjeeling. _Now, drugged food may be an entertaining concept for the movies, but under almost any circumstances your captors would get better results with a hypodermic. If they’re bothering at all, it’ll be for the sheer intimidation value…and as I expect you’re aware, intimidation is rather easier to resist when you aren’t starving._

Murdoc’s got some weird interests in life. “Sorry, never mind. I promise.”

Faith smiles at him and lets him have the spoon. Cream of mushroom soup, it’s actually pretty tasty. 

“We had such a long debate, while you were sleeping,” Hope says. “I thought at first we might want to just put you away quietly. Bury you in the garden, perhaps.”

“Hope,” Faith says rebukingly, as at a sister’s mild faux pas. 

“But Faith convinced me that it might be nice to have someone else about the house again. To cook blueberry pies for, and play cards with. I do hope you like bridge.“

“Um. Are you talking about keeping me here forever?”

“Not forever,” Faith says. “Twenty years, perhaps. Thirty. We’re a long-lived family, you know.”

They can't possibly be serious. Can they?

***********

“What if I tried rejiggering one of the coffee machines? That expresso pump’s pretty powerful-“

“Jack. Don’t even think about it.” They’re both edgy tonight; Mac had promised to be back the Friday before school started. Now it’s Saturday, and still no sign; Becky bites a thread off and starts working in magenta. “Do you think we should call search and rescue? I don’t like this.”

“So he’s slacking a little bit,” Jack says, carelessly tossing a coffee mug from hand to hand. “He’s on vacation, you gotta let the man breathe.”

“It’s not a vacation. It’s contract work for the Phoenix Foundation.”

“Which is a great reason not to call in the troops, or we’ll have his employers thinking he’s a disaster. C’mon, you know he can take care of himself.”

“Yeah, but wolf tracking…maybe he should have taken a gun. He said he didn’t need one and I agreed, but now I’m wondering.”

“You know the stats on wolf fatalities. Probably stands a better chance of being run over by my taxi, whenever he does get back to civilisation.”

“What a rotten sense of humour you’ve got,” Becky mutters, unsmiling. “I’ve got the route he was going to take, I could try following it. Course, it does mean skipping school.”

“Well, don’t look at me. Somebody’s gotta keep the shop running, and you know you can’t do that part. People’ll talk.”

“I didn’t even have to ask. Thanks,” Becky says gratefully. “I dunno how your taxi business manages.”

“Eh. Not even worrying about it these days,” Jack says. “Here’s the real problem, though. Suppose Mac gets back the day after you leave, and I have to explain why I let you charge off after him? You’ll end up in a wacky loop-de-loop chasing after each other.”

“I should have made a plan. This is what happens when I don’t make plans.” She tosses the embroidery aside. “But you know what? I’ve sent in all my college applications already.”

“So?”

“So, school doesn’t actually matter at this point…”

***********

“It’s like this,” Faith explains. “We have a million dollars in a cookie jar in the kitchen.”

“Drug money,” Hope says, clicking her tongue. “We used to keep a boarding house closer to town. Then this gang came along and murdered one of our boarders.”

“A nice old man, even if he was cooking the books for them. He left us all the money in his will, and I must say, I thought we thoroughly deserved it.”

“So we sold the house and moved up to our hunting cabin, just in case someone should come asking nosy questions. After all, we didn’t know whether the police might want us to give the money back. Or the gang.”

“Now that just wouldn’t be any fun at all,” Hope says. “Besides, we want to set up an animal protection fund. For the gray wolf.”

“I think the government’s doing a pretty adequate job at that,” Mac says weakly. 

“Well, you can’t be too careful. So there it all is. What else can we do, except keep you?”

For a moment, as he’s finishing the delicately-spiced rice pudding, Mac allows himself to actually think about this crazy proposition. He’s had a wretchedly hard life, after all. Constantly fretting about money. Anxiously trying not to offend customers. Crisis after crisis after crisis. 

But now that a miracle’s arrived, offering a way out...he was actually enjoying himself at some level, wasn’t he? Fighting his way through life. Mission City isn’t much of a place, but it’s still way better than being cuffed to a bed for the rest of his life. 

Besides, there’s always Becky to think of. 

“This gang. Did anybody ever mention Ralph Jerico?”

“Funny you should say that,” Faith says. “Do you know, our boarder was his accountant. But what’s that got to do with it?”

“Because I hate the guy’s guts. He stole my wife away, she’s Ellen Jerico now.”

Murdoc again. _The more truth you can get into your lies, the better. Emotionally as well as factually._

“And I know he’s been trying to get a big drug-running operation off the ground, but he blackmailed me to keep quiet about it. If anything, I’d love to give him a poke in the eye for you two.”

Faith gives him a curious look. “That doesn’t sound like anything an official Phoenix Foundation agent would say.”

“What’s Phoenix got to do with it? I’m only doing the wolf tracking project for them.”

“Oh dear,” Hope says, blushing. “What an awful misunderstanding...our sister works for them, you see. In the espionage branch, you can see how we’d think the worst.”

Huh. 

This must be one weird think tank. 

***********

Becky isn’t happy. 

There’s her uncle’s path, which is clear enough. He wasn’t going out of his way to disguise it, after all; every so often, she sees sap bleeding from the trees he’s used as knife-throwing targets. Partly to mark a trail, partly just to keep his hand in.

She touches the revolver at her waist, heavy and uncomfortable. Jack had insisted. 

“You’re a young woman, getting into who knows what kind of trouble. Better safe than sorry.”

“But you think that he’s fine. And that I’m overreacting.”

“Sure, but- can’t be too careful, right?”

Maybe he had a point. Because there’s someone else on this trail- several someones- and they’re sticking to her uncle’s trail so closely that they have to be following him. She can’t imagine what for, but she doesn’t like this all. 

Here, in the clearing- there’s blood on the leaves. Stale, dried blood, and a few desultory ants still crawling over a bear trap. 

Not allowing herself to think about what this might mean, she follows the solitary trail out. As quietly and invisibly as she can, until she reaches a house. 

Three men, trying to get through a window. She catches a glimpse of something red and shaggy hitting the foremost one in the face; he screams, falls backwards onto the other two. 

“My eyes!”

“What the hell was that?” one of them asks. 

“He smells like paprika now,” the other says, sniffing. “A lot of paprika.”

Gotta be her uncle in there. Who else would have thought up a dodge like that?

“Two old ladies and a guy with a broken leg? How the hell aren’t we inside this house yet?”

They’ve hurt him. They’ve hurt her Mac. 

Becky steps out into the open. “Hands up!”

“You can’t shoot all of us,” one of them says, whipping out his own gun. “Not before we shoot you.”

“Yeah? Well, one of you is still writhing in agony over there, so there’s only you two left. So which one of you is feeling lucky? Because even if you do shoot me, I could definitely hit one of you.”

“She’s sure not a cop, anyway,” the other one says. “And I’m not getting paid enough to deal with crazy teenagers on top of everything else. This thing’s been a bust from start to finish.”

The first one sighs in agreement, drops his gun. 

“Uncle Mac!” Becky shouts. “Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah!”

He limps out, using what looks like a broken hat rack for a crutch. Two little old ladies scurry past him and start handcuffing the criminals. 

Becky moves in close, hugs her uncle in relief while he looks at her in amazement. 

“You really held a gun on those guys?”

“Why not? I took all the bullets out first thing.”

The henchmen collectively groan.

***********

“Two hundred thousand apiece? And we’ll fend off whoever comes after you, be it feds or the drug runners.“

“A hundred thousand, and that’s our final offer,” Hope says, handing around another round of hot blueberry pie. “It is our money, you know.”

“Everybody,” Mac intervens. “I don’t think we have as much as we thought we did. There’s a bundle of a hundred and twenty thousand or so that’s alright, but the rest of it...I think the inks look wrong.”

One of the henchmen grabs a pile, examines it and nods in disgust. “Yeah, it figures. That’d be the money earmarked for Jerico. The rest was meant to go for payroll. To think we were supposed to be putting our lives at risk for fakes...but say, you recognised the funny money awfully quick. Sure you’re not in the business?” 

“I’ve got a friend who’s taught me a few things,” Mac says slyly.

“A hundred and twenty thousand, six of us, so that’s twenty thousand dollars for each of us. Could be worse.”

“Ten thousand,” Faith says sternly. “We have the gray wolf to think of, you know.”

The henchmen look at each other. “Not much of a salary…”

“But it’s better than working for Jerico, that’s for sure.”

“All the pie we can eat?”

“Every day,” Hope promises. 

“Done.”

“And we’ll give you enough of a share to make sure that leg’s looked after properly,” Faith says to Mac. “I insist.”

“If I had...five thousand, six hundred and sixty dollars on top of that, that’d be perfect. I could really use my jeep back. And a little left over, to take my favourite niece out for a lobster dinner.”

“Of course,” Hope agrees. “But remember, no telling this Nikki Carpenter that you know the Phoenix Foundation has...other proclivities. She might start wondering where you’d heard it.”

“Promise.”

***********

”You know very well I object to drinking out of a bone china cup,” Murdoc says at the shop the next day. “I-”

“You get what you get and you’ll like it,” Mac says, very cocky.

Amazing difference, since the first time he’d met the man.

Quite soon, the assassin reflects to himself. Quite soon indeed.


	6. April Fool

Enough of this, Ralph Jerico decides. 

He’s waited for months for the town to shun Angus MacGyver of their own accord, considering his theatrical going-ons; but it hasn’t happened. Everyone’s so charmed by this Leroux character that the gossip’s envious, not disgusted. 

And today, he’s come home, planning a piece of violence or pleasure or both at once- but no wife is waiting for him. Just a note. 

_I’m not writing dear, because you’re not. So I’ll just say this- Ralph, I’m leaving. The Phoenix Foundation’s programme for abused women will make sure I never have to see you again- and that’s just how I want it._

_And I still don’t love Mac, but in his own way he has integrity. And that’s something you never will._

_Ellen_

There’s no profit in destroying the man’s reputation. Not now. But it’ll be a victory, and that’s all he cares about now. 

He fetches the incriminating documents from the safe, and drives down to the police station to find utter chaos. Shouting, and running amuk, and general disorderliness. Criminal or not (he doesn’t think of himself as one), it’s enough to make him quite despair for the future of Mission City. 

But he isn’t Ralph Jerico for nothing; the force of his name and position is enough to gain him an immediate private meeting with the police chief. He’s briskly efficient, as he lays out the letters. Documentary proof of criminal behaviour. Just the right touch of reluctance, to turn in a man formerly so dear to Ellen…but the eventual decision that justice must prevail. All very satisfying. 

“Breaking into a federal prison, just to begin with. That must be a felony.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can work up a few charges. Although we can’t exactly bring him in just now, can we?”

“Why not? Why ever not?”

“Didn’t you hear?” the chief says, with dark amusement. “Mac was kidnapped early this morning. We were at a loss for a motive, since they can hardly expect a ransom…and then you walk in and hand me your confession on a silver platter. Wouldn’t have thought you to be the sort that suffers from a guilty conscience, Jerico. Or were you hoping to bribe me into overlooking it?”

“My confession? That was nothing of the sort!”

“Wasn’t it? Means, motive, opportunity. It’ll look just fine on my record, fingering a suspect for Mission City’s biggest-ever crime in not even twelve hours.”

“You’ll never make it stick.”

“Won’t I? A lot of nasty little details will come out at the trial, you know. Don’t think we’ve been utterly blind to all your drug-running attempts.” The chief is smiling now, and not nicely. 

“Then- I would like to see my lawyer.”

“Oh, you’ll get one. Funny business, isn’t it? If you’d come forward about this any other time, Mac would have been an instant pariah. But as it is now…you’ve probably done the only thing that could get people feeling sympathetic towards him. When we find him and bring him home, if he’s still alive, they’ll probably throw him a parade.”

A cold northern draught sweeps through the office, as Ralph Jerico realises just how tightly he’s knotted the noose for himself. Even if he gets off (he’ll get off, they haven’t any proof and money can buy anything)- nobody in Mission City will ever trust him again. The town he’s striven so hard to save. 

Damn that Angus MacGyver, anyway. 

Damn him to hell. 


End file.
